Daves B, McG and I, forgetting it was a Wednesday night, happened upon the Sportsman for a pint or three last night; so imagine our surprise to be confronted with Messrs Westgate and Musson enjoying a quiet pint on their own in the corner.
They advise that they’d journeyed in the company of Clive Last and son (over from Oz?) to the pole, High Nebb and back via some bog and disorienting clag.
Only one roadie, by contrast, Simon Bacsich we believe (“tall chap with a tache”) … who, finding himself to be Billy no Mates with road shoes, thought better of the exercise option and b*ggered off home.
Warts 4, Roadies 0.
See you all for a Happy New Year’s pint in Bradfield next Wednesday, assuming we all survive the intervening Birthday Runs.
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